BriiiAan: A Zombie Love Story
by LibertySun
Summary: A mysterious virus has infected, well just about everyone (maybe even you). The worlds full of slow talkin', slower walkin', flesh munchin' zombies. One little bite soon leaves Brian & Justin with one big problem! Can one dead heart love another? More importantly, can it overcome the desire to eat it? Warning: Major Character UN-Death. Violent/Dark imagery.
1. It Begins

**A/N:** In the spirit of Halloween I was inspired to write this, I have quite a bit already written, it looks like it will be about 7-8 chapters. My goal is to fully complete it and post it all by Halloween. I'm not sure how many zombie fans are out there but to you I say, feel free to join me it's all you can eat! :)

**Note:** The beliefs & eating habits of the undead are neither supported nor' practiced by the author.

A Halloween treat...or is it a trick?!  
>No excuses. No apologies. No regrets...just braiiiins!<p>

* * *

><p><em>Sometime ago, most were alive. Death was the end without reason.<em>  
><em>Now they return after they've died…and devour their friends without season.<em>

Gray. Every damn thing.

Looming clouds, abandoned buildings, lifeless flesh.

The world barely cared to put on its face, like a drag queen too tired for make-up.

Bland. Colorless. Dead.

For months all that remained lie broken, looted and forgotten.

Pittsburgh was no exception. It existed still, though only just. It stood in shambles, void of life. Save for the occasional fast runner, the too small crowd barricaded in the Liberty diner, and the two men one block away.

Everything can die_._ Sometimes you just have to kill it again. With that philosophy in place, Brian pulled the trigger for a second time.

He knew of course that even silenced the sudden sound could attract dead heads directly to them; but there was no other choice. He wouldn't let that _thing_ get Justin.

Over the years he'd gotten used to fighting off other men for the blond's attention; it was kind of like that now. Only the men nowadays were missing body parts that were probably important and wanted to eat a lot more than Taylor's ass.

The thing gave a gasp that had an unnerving crackle like autumn leaves. Hardly recognizable as having once been human, it stared at Brian. Or so it seemed. The jury was still out on whether these things could still see or not. It's pupils were no longer discernible from the white around them.

Brian and Justin had guessed their vision was impaired as their sense of scent and sound seemed unnaturally heightened. Thankfully their motor skills took a dive as well. Turns out these things were less than adept at climbing stairs.

Until recently the two had been holed up in the loft on Tremont. Safely tucked away behind a familiar metal door and each other's embrace.

Being the resourceful little fucker he was, Justin had managed to scrounge up food, weapons and even a generator before everything went to Hell. Which is ironic if you think about it, what with everyone deciding to play Jesus and resurrect.

That food supply, ammunition and electric juice were little less than non-existent now. That morning, after a considerate amount of what Brian had come to appropriately title, 'let's fuck like it's the end of the world sex', they'd heard it. It was there, drifting underneath their shallow panting.

Picking up the remote, Brian went to turn off the barely audible television to listen more intently. Most power lines had long ago shut down, W.E.D.Y.D News was the only broadcast to maintain live feed.

"This just in…We're all fuck outta luck." the station's lone anchor, Trevor Starkweather announced in what appeared to be half relieved sigh, half maniacal giggle.

Granted no real news had been reported in weeks. Even when it had, it'd been less than informative. It seemed nobody knew what had caused the outbreak or knew how to stop it from spreading. In just a little over a month, multiple countries were overrun. By the time it came to the Pitts, the news updates stopped coming.

Ol' Trevor had confirmed he was trapped in the studio alone, with but one working camera and little remaining sanity. It helped though, to project the illusion of normalcy. Brian pushed the power button and pulled Justin to him. They listened.

It was in the apartment below them, perhaps in the hall outside their own. Sporadic thumping echoed in the otherwise quiet building.

Thumpa. Thumpa.

The dead were rising…yet again. Right to the top of the building.

Both men grabbed for the weapon they'd kept on their designated sides of the bed. Silently agreeing to stay silent, they pulled on their discarded clothing and grabbed the bags they'd packed for this very moment.

They were going to have to leave their own little world and venture into the real one. Or at least, whatever was left of it.

Brian attempted to open the door as quietly as possible, it rumbled loudly regardless. Looking both ways, both men were relieved to find the hall empty. Too close though, rhythmic shuffling and groaning carried up from the stairwell. The damn things were learning to make their way up.

Justin wrapped his fingers around the wooden grip of his favorite gun, a custom 1911 that always delivered a smooth and sufficient shot. He brought his other arm forward poised with a tactical knife. Leaving him prepared for both melee and long distance combat.

Justin's booted foot stepped forward first, Instinctively Brian's arm shot out to stop him. The determined blue that glared at him had him quickly pulling it back. Justin was no child in need of protection. If Brian had learned anything from their relationship, it was that.

The blond was stronger than him in many ways. His balance. His equal. His heart.

Brian took the same stance and pressed his back against his partner's. With a clear shot of every angle, they made their way toward the fire escape at the end of the hall.

Months before, Brian had screwed wooden planks to the single window to keep the monsters out. Quickly, he clenched his clean blade between his teeth and tucked his firearm in the waist of his pants. He then pulled an iron crow bar from the bag across his shoulder. He was swift and steady in the removal. The muscles in his arms pulled taught with each tug.

He rearranged his weapons again and helped Justin out of the now open space. Their lungs were greedy for the burst of air that found them; nature's breeze a forgotten luxury.

The deeper they inhaled, the quicker they began to choke. It was not exactly the fresh air they had fondly remembered. It hung like a thick cloud above the city. Tainted not in color but in scent. The world reeked of death.

Justin covered his face with his sleeve and coughed. Brian sniffled and pressed his forehead to the back of Justin's neck. They stood looking down on the nightmare dreamed to life and gave a moment of silence for their old lives.

From up there it almost seemed peaceful. Nothing like the macabre video footage that aired when this chaos first began. Nothing even like the old horror flicks Michael had always made Brian watch on every childhood Halloween.

But they could not remain up there forever, or even a moment more. They had to move before nightfall if they wanted a successful shot at moving through the city.

It was all but a faded memory now, their first attempt of getting out of Brian's building. When the government's sirens had stopped blaring and the military were little more than well-dressed flesh eaters. It was an unnerving scene neither Brian or Justin would ever forget. The heroes turned to monsters. It was the first sign that no one was coming to save them. They had still held hope, but hope was no solution.

That same day, they had fought their way through to the Novotny's home only to find the entire neighborhood engulfed in flames and overrun by those _things_. The smell was horrific, burning wood and melted flesh. As quickly as they could, Brian and Justin had bravely made their way back to loft, up the same fire escape. Back to their safe haven, boarding the window behind them.

Their destination this time without question would be the Liberty Diner. Brian had never told Justin, but he actually prayed every night that his 'family' was safe. If he knew Debbie, and he did, she was still out there… Serving up second death as a pink plate special.

The climb down the fire escape was a smooth one. No undead limbs grabbed from broken windows, no creatures loomed at the bottom.

They hit the ground with a muted thud and assessed their surroundings. They were on a fairly unpopulated side of the building. They passed a few slain corpses they tried not to see, and Brian's Corvette.

The passenger door was torn off, lying like an amputated limb. The windshield was shattered but not yet ready to leave it's frame. It was covered in cosmetic dings and scratches. As he walked around to the driver's side, He saw the driver was still in it. And by the looks of him, had been for a while now.

Brian's mind sent him a steady stream of fond Vette related memories and he bit his knuckle to stop the cry. He was too poor to afford the luxury of hysteria at the moment.

Justin tugged his partner's arm and dragged him toward the corner of the building. They had passed a few more cars, but hadn't even considered taking one. Even if a vehicle still ran it would only draw exceedingly unwanted attention. Worse still than the trolls that used to drool over them both at Babylon.

Driving a car through a road full of zombies, was fast food. Meals on Wheels.

As they rounded the corner that brought them out to the street, both men stopped steady. Up close the view of the world was very much exactly like those horror films he'd watched with Mikey.


	2. It Began

They scaled as close to buildings as they could hoping to stay both quick and quiet on their feet. Most of the neighborhood's patrons had met a painful, though thankfully permanent end.

The carnage of the infected lie strewn across the city. Torn, ravaged carcasses lined the streets. The occasional loner still picked at the remains. This mysterious virus had resulted in one gruesome eating disorder. The phrase 'Dog eat dog world' had never rang more true.

All that were not food…fed. Reanimated townsfolk wandered aimlessly in search of that which they craved the most. Something that now risked extinction, humanity.

The eerily silenced world caused an echo effect on the dry, guttural rasp of a dead man's breath. A howling wind of the wicked.

As Justin paced behind his partner, he couldn't stop his eyes or mind from wandering. Though he had ventured out once before, something felt different now. Worse of course, but that wasn't it. He turned a blind eye to the hundreds of deceased. The artist in him was able to blur the edges of his focus.

A jerking motion some yards to his left caught his attention. It was a scene that required a slight pause and a hard stare.

A small group of _others _stood huddled under the torn canopy of a bakery. They didn't seem to notice Justin notice them. The blond bystander glimpsed briefly to the store front window. It was full of molded baked goods, rotting like the rest of the world.

He watched fascinated. Counted four of them and then it hit him, what had changed. Before, the undead appeared to have walked and fed only for themselves. Now, these four were not trying to claw past one another in search of their next meal.

It looked to Justin that they were _whispering_ to each other. All the knowledge of these things Justin had gathered disproved what he was seeing. These creatures made chilling sound effects, emitted groans, but never did they _speak_.

He noticed with a start that this was the first time he'd bothered to differentiate gender or tried to guess age. A middle aged man and petite woman, two smaller girls. They looked like a…family. It was both an intriguing and perturbing thought.

He was about to point this out to Brian but a familiar face paused his words. Though beneath decay, recognizable features sculpted a face. Two faces even.

Justin couldn't recall the couple's names, but had definitely seen them before. A tall redhead and his smaller dark haired boyfriend. He tried to recall the last time he had seen this couple. He'd often tried remembering anything really about his life …before.

Before whispered reports circulated the earth. Before every news outlet had aired that first surveillance video. The first re-birth, the rolling gravestone that had quickly gathered the dirt of the buried like moss. It was a scene too insane to be anything but a hoax. It was no hoax.

He'd since forgotten from which country the tape had originated but he could recall it frame by frame.

The film had been black and white and grainy, but Justin could still tell it was a small store. It reminded him of a tiny shop he and Michael had once gone to downtown to buy 'special' herbs for Brian's tea. The screen was still, the lone shop keeper perched on a stool behind the counter. Thirty seconds into the video, a man barges in from the front. He's clenching his stomach and frantically calling out something to the clerk. The video has no sound.

As the shopkeeper stumbles around to assist the man crumpled into a heap on the floor. A dark liquid pools around him like paint on canvas. It is not paint. The news later stated the man had been involved in a stabbing incident on the street. The clerk goes behind the counter to make a phone call, presumably for medical aid, and returns to the now, motionless man.

Seven minutes and twenty seven seconds into the tape a paramedic arrives. The man is pronounced deceased. Now, let's skip ahead.

Fifteen minutes and five seconds into frame, an investigator enters the store and begins a conversation with the Medic and the clerk.

Fifteen minutes and seven seconds in, the deceased man's legs begin to twitch, he pulls the sheet down from his face.

Fifteen minutes and nine seconds in, the medic returns to the miraculously responsive patient.

Fifteen minutes nine seconds and six milliseconds in, the man raises, shakily, he stands and clamps his teeth into the medic's throat.

Sixteen minutes, the dead man kills.

The rest is not suitable for the most mature of audiences.

Before that tape, before Z-Day, Justin could barely recall much at all. You see, that's the thing about the day before a life shattering event…It's just a day, like any other.

Justin shuddered as he pulled himself from the view in his head. His mind flashed a more pleasant memory of the two men across the street, dancing in Babylon, at the bar of Woody's. He eyed them now, clearly infected, with a bit of wonder. Though they were a far distance away, Justin could see they were…holding hands.

The taller one lifted his red dead head and Justin would swear under oath that he saw him, met his eyes. Astoundingly, they were not the sickening milky white of the undead, but rather a piercing gray. A nervous shiver tickled Justin's spine. This thing could_ SEE_ him. Was looking. Directly. At. Him.

Even from this distance, Justin could see the quizzical thoughts in it's eyes. He watched his lips mutter something, and the other one too, lifted his head. He was grotesque sure, but somehow he was not as intimidating as most of these creatures the blond had encountered.

Perhaps it was the fact that this one had only one eye. Also gray. The other was gone, leaving only a dark, shallow cave no-one would wish to explore. That single eye met his friend's then moved back to Justin. For reasons unknown, they clearly had little interest in pursuing him and Brian.

Brian's panicked whisper pulled his attention back to his own partner. Back to reality, a land of lost romance and forgotten hope.

A large group of the hungry filled the upcoming intersection. One that once welcomed a Pride parade now held a different sin, gluttony. The morbid march of a rigid gait.

There was what Justin had guessed, nearly thirty of them. Not one eerily gray eye in the bunch. These monsters didn't resemble the family or the couple who despite death, only had eyes for each other. They made no goo-goo eyes, and they certainly said no words.

They seemed not to remember their humanity, the difference between love and hate. They could hate your guts, but they would devour them regardless.

"Liberty is one street over." Brian said hushed. "We'll go straight till the stoplight, then cross over into the alley." He put his knife and gun in his belt, still within reach in a moment's notice. He looked out at the street trying to strategize their next move.

"That's your plan?" Justin asked.

"Yeah, the plan's fine."

"The plan where we openly walk beside the Z-Day parade, then make an uncovered mad dash to a place we can be easily cornered? That plan?"

"Yes." Brian said simply.

Justin let out a silent but overly animated sigh of frustration. "Yeah, NOT fine."

Just because they were smack dab in the middle of an Apocalypse; it did not make either man any less stubborn.

After a quick battle of will, Justin folded. 'It really was the quickest route to the diner.' With a defiant eye-roll but a compliant nod, Justin grasped Brian's offered hand.

Of course the brunet knew risking such exposure was dangerous. He also knew it was the only way to ensure finding and securing the diner before dark. He took a step forward but felt a warm hand tug him in place. He turned and looked at the man that mattered _so_ much.

Justin remained the only one to ever make him feel stronger and weaker at the same time. He couldn't help it, even now his heart leapt as much as that very first glance under the lamppost. It seemed another lifetime ago. Hell, it _was_. Another world.

Justin gave another little tug and turned Brian around to face him. He tucked his own weapons away and took his partner's other hand. He looked him straight in the eye.

"Hey." He spoke in a soft voice through a softer smile.

"Hey." Brian said equally as delicate.

Unspoken worries still found their way into the conversation. Every minute out on the streets posed a threat they didn't voice. Couldn't.

"I love you." Justin whispered.

"Yeah?" Brian grinned, swinging their arms slightly by the hands like lovesick school children.

"Yeah." The blond replied.

It was a bittersweet sound. Almost like both a promise and a goodbye. It was that sound that made Brian grab his hips and crush their bodies and lips together.

It was not a sweet, loving kiss and it certainly was not gentle. It was raw, rough and possibly the deepest kiss they'd ever shared.

All of those unvoiced secrets spilled through twirling tongues. There on that forgotten corner of a forgotten world, they told each other everything that didn't require words.

They'd pulled apart almost as suddenly as they had merged. Heavy pants and light smiles were brief but important. A breath of life amongst so much death.

Both palmed a weapon in one hand and rejoined the others, fingers interlocking. Both of them had had the thought before, though now it was pounding down in it's literalness. It truly was the two of them against the world.


	3. It Moves Forward

With every step carefully thought out, their trek around the hoard of horrors went smoother than expected. Afoot so feather light, both men could hardly hear their own steps. Passing by that many eyes (poor vision or not) was an incredible feat.

Brian's plan to dive head first into a sea of bodies had worked out. _'And Justin was worried.'_

He allowed a swift smugness to drop by for a visit. Unfortunately, as quickly as it'd come, Brian's brain kicked it out. His tiny victory was terribly short lived.

No, it had not been the walk through the street that had raised the heads of the dead. It was Brian's tripping on the corner curb that had posed the problem. More specifically, it had been the involuntary swear word that hit the air like a hiss of steam.

As he scrambled to get back upright he realized that while eyes may not have seen them…many ears still heard.

A staggered sway swept the street, moving like no ocean ever could.

'_Ok, so perhaps his plan had been flawed.' _Brianadmitted to himself all but throwing Justin into the alley.

Quickly scanning the available helpful materials, they quietly agreed on a torn piece of chain link fence.

It had once been secure, it now stood propped against the wall. It still looked sturdy and was taller than both men. Brian tugged and Justin joined him, bringing it to gate the opening as much as they could.

With human speed on their side, they managed to reinforce the loose fence by pushing a dumpster in front of it. It had not been as easy as it had always looked in the movies. It was rusted, disgusting, and really fucking heavy.

Catching his breath Justin felt a stinging pinch to his bicep. A rouge edge of metal must've pierced his shirt. Glancing he observed a tiny tear. His arm was probably not punctured enough to bleed but surely enough to bruise.

In a reality withholding much to appreciate, he was grateful that zombies beat out vampires for the lead in the apocalypse. If he was bleeding it would draw death right to his breath. Not that he was exactly being discreet at the moment, he and Brian were less than invisible to the gruesome gang cornering them.

"Are you ok?" both men asked the other in unison.

Both also checking over their partner's body in lieu of their own. Content that Brian has not twisted his ankle, Justin glanced back to the more pressing, walking threat. Brian however remained fixated on him.

"I'm fine." Justin blurted anxiously, tugging at Brian's arm. The man just stood there like he hadn't heard him, his attention still searching for the smallest scratch.

Blue eyes widened as he watched more and more of their not too friendly admirers approach the mouth of the alley. He was steady slapping Brian then, "Brian. Let's go. Move, now. Now. NOW!"

The stern command seemed to snap Kinney back in place, which was only slightly more terrifying than the place he'd just been. Trapped inside one past memory and then another. In both, Brian had been assessing Justin's injuries.

'A flash of movement. A smile. The piercing crack of a bat that broke too much. Blood running colder than the cement. Justin!...Justin!...Dust. Lights. Screams...Justin!...So much fucking dust. I love you. ..I love you...'

"..NOW!" He was back in front of Justin now. He was not the boy from the memories. He was stronger, the smile was older now but no less beautiful.

A slice of pain cut through his chest for a moment. '_Christ, he missed that smile.'_ The macabre backdrop that was their world, needed to see that smile.

Justin looked at him now, wary but adamant. His eyes focused and mouth in the hard line it too often was.

Brian read Justin's look clearly…That while they were both fine now, if he did not move his ass they would not be for long.

He lifted his head to gauge their current surroundings. A tall wall of aged brick seemed to close in on them from either side. Brian couldn't recall what exact buildings they were or their size. At the moment both appeared to meet the sky, effectively ruling out a climb to freedom.

The alleyway itself felt as cluttered and chaotic as his lungs were starting to feel.

Mounds of trash piled in all directions. Not that that much mattered anymore, the entire world had become humanity's wasteland.

A land of rebirth but no growth. No life.

Various debris formed stacks in obvious patterns of concealment. Tattered materials created make-shift hideaways. Each that was now an empty salvation.

Monsters were things of nightmares that dwelled in closets and beneath beds. There was no place they wouldn't look. No place for you to hide.

Those same places now deemed a prime opportunity for safe-haven turned hunting post. Brian put an arm out to still Justin before walking upon that which they could not see. Who knew what lurked within.

The ever growing mob still pushed toward them. Chain linked metallic rustles clanged back, thankfully not giving way. The blocked entrance (now too, a blocked exit) spilled the men deeper into the alley.

Terror pooled around them, coating their shoes along with a substance neither wished to identify.

Clink. Clink. Back and forth garbled groans crescendoed at various intervals. A chilling chorus.

"The barber shop." Justin spoke and gave a general flick of his finger in the direction of the closest unblocked door. 'Curl up & Dye' Salon.

Brian nodded and hoped the sign was not narrating a foreshadowed event.

He kept his eyes on his feet navigating his way through the clutter. He tried too to keep watch on Justin ahead of him and any surrounding threat. Two eyes? Not enough.

He stepped forward and heard a snap. A hollowed crack. The dry brittle break of a wishbone. Brian had given up wishing months ago.

Instinctively he pulled back his foot and studied what it'd stepped on. A hand. Attached to a wrist, attached to a body he'd recognized. The crunching beneath Brian's foot left remnants of dusted bone. Fingers were severed but he couldn't tell if by boot or decay.

The not quite dead corpse lay sprawled long ways against brick. Brian felt Justin draw nearer and again put out an arm to halt him. He'd been grateful he couldn't see his partner's scowl. Justin shouldn't be getting closer to it. Closer to it's head, it's face. Where the biting and the chewing happened.

The deadhead shifted attempting to stand. Brian withdrew his gun and aimed it at it's brain. He addressed the barely recognizable trick. "Hey Todd, How's it going?" He asked.

"Grrrrr—uhh-ahhh." It replied.

Brian pulled the trigger.

"You know Todd, I think I preferred when you wanted me for my body, not my brain."

That which wasn't Todd moved again; although it wasn't one to rush.

The corner of it's mouth was flaked with blood and tears of flesh. The lower half of it's face was flayed open; it flapped a little with the motion. The deep wounded skin folded and stuck to a more fresh glistening spatter of blood (Presumably from an unfortunate passerby).

The hideous face seemingly smiled. It added a new level of disturbing discomfort.

Brian jolted at Justin's yelp. The monstrous, crumbling hand tried to tug at the blond's pant leg.

He couldn't let that _thing_ get Justin. Everything can die. Sometimes you just have to kill it again. With that philosophy in place, Brian pulled the trigger for a second time.

"Brian we're fine, Let's go!" Justin commanded, not bothering with the hushed stage whisper he'd long since perfected. With two gunshots singing out, stifling sound was pointless.

Brian tried and failed to tune out the increasingly louder clanking of the fence. The only barrier saving them from the feasting festivities. The jangle of it loosening, a gentle scraping. At the moment the fence was more a wishful thought than protection.

The brunet grabbed the strong silver toned handle of the salon's backdoor. It was sticky. STICKY. He went to clear the offending hand on his pants but paused.

Things that should not matter when facing impending death:  
>1. Touching gross things.<br>2. How good you look in your clothes.

Oh, who are we kidding? This was Brian fucking Kinney. He wiped his palm on the back of Justin's shirt; who was opening the door himself.


	4. It Stills

The acidic scent of hair dye was pungent and stale. Easily noted even through the useless cleaning chemicals and dying earth.

Brian recalled the time Theodore went blond headed old twink for a blink. Christ was he an idiot. An idiot he missed. Both men desperately mourned their friends.

They had started to feel the enormity of the disappearing world. What good was a big city without little people to fill it to it's brim.

Four eyes gave the place a much needed sweep. The door was steel, sound, safe. No ghostly groans shared the room. The men pulled a large wooden shelf full of shampoo and products in front of it for extra reinforcement.

A dust covered barber's chair beckoned to Brian. Despite the thick layer of aged breath that exhaled when he sat, the old leather felt comfortable. Worn in by years of people. 'Living people.' The thought brought comfort in itself.

Brian relaxed his shoulders for the first time since leaving the loft and rolled his neck. His spine gave it's two cents with vocal cracks along his back. It felt wonderful. He cupped the back of his neck and closed his eyes.

Justin lay stretched out to Brian's left. His head rested on the pillow of the hair drying station, his feet propped up on a stack of old celebrity magazines. Printed in another time. It was nothing short of surreal how life was now compared to then.

It was almost impossible to believe. Back when the world cared too much about appearances and too little about too much else.

How we organized humanity by too many variables. Orientation, Race, Religion, Social Class. Who had the most money. Who was hot. Who was not.

All of the above had been ridiculously placed into perspective in this new place.

Everyone had dwindled down to just three important groups:

1. Dead.

2. Alive.

3. Both.

The two men rested there, content in mutual silence. Though neither liking to be alone with their thoughts; Brian spoke first.

"Hey, when we're dead, will you still…" he slid his tongue to his cheek and turned just his head to his partner.

He opened his eyes to find Justin already looking at him. "…blow me?" Brian clicked his tongue and smiled.

Justin gave as good a grin his tired muscles would allow. He loved it when Brian still found a hidden moment these days to flirt. To better sustain their humor in case one of them forgot how to use it.

He also hated it. Hated the spiral of feelings it uprooted in his mind. A tornado of thoughts.

Looking on the Brightside, they were both there, that moment…breathing and loving like the living do.

But then, there was the other side. Justin didn't want to look on the other side.

Imagining one or both of them eventually, inevitably…turning. No. He wasn't going there.

It was one of those weighted worries that would dissolve you from the outside in, if you let it.

A gut wrenching worry that although in truth it consumed you, you did your best to pretend. You convince yourself it's not really melting into your veins. Seeping through your pores at every moment.

You don't let the worry emerge. It's hard with nothing but will and faith to fight it but it can be done.

Justin always did it. Pushed away the thought of he and Brian becoming one of them. Quelled the sick in his stomach and the ache in his heart.

He gave his body a final stretch and stood. Blue eyes reflected mischief as he sauntered toward Brian. "Eat the meat." He told him through a real smile and straddled the man's lap.

Brian hadn't moved but a single part that stirred the man's lap. Brian hadn't moved but a single part that stirred enough for Justin to greet it with a grind.

Brian flashed a smile of his own as his hands found the man's ass, their second home. He gave a squeeze. "Rigamortis. You're dead bed is looking up!" The 'P' popped in the quiet.

This was a thing they did. Every so often (when reality whispered for a moment) they'd exchange slogans for the new world order. Imagine Kinnetik successfully smearing the world with one of the endless forgotten arts.

Justin wiggled a little that jiggled Brian's thought. His pale finger's traced the brunet's jawline and gave a soft smack to his cheek. "Eating flesh and looking fabulous."

Brian's hand snaked away from Justin's ass to find the crotch of his jeans. He palmed Justin through the denim earning him a gasp and a grin. Justin leaned his head back allowing himself to enjoy the friction.

"You can have a friend. You can have a brain. But you can't have your friend's brain." Brian said, already moving to unbutton Justin's pants and grip him.

A shiver Brian was proud of vibrated the kid. '_The Kinney Touch._' He'd once called it. It pained Brian more these days to imagine those ones. The good ones. Before. Even the old bad ones were better than this.

He thought briefly of his parents, his sister. He hadn't known what had become of them. 'Would he have felt differently if he did?' He shook away the inquiry and focused on Justin who was blissfully babbling through Brian's strokes and tugs.

Justin bent forward again, his legs trembling and grabbed his partner by the hair. Brian had repositioned his hand to accommodate the shift. It was a delicious kind of torture that he hadn't been granted a pause.

Brian's mouth merged as seamless as always to the kiss. Hand and tongue (just two of his talented parts) were raise worthy coworkers.

Countless encounters such as this had taught him all of Justin's reactions. Two thigh quakes and a lip bite later, he'd felt his satisfied warmth coat his hand. He rubbed his thumb once more over the slit before pulling away; simply because Justin always called it cruel and unusual punishment.

It got him a swat to his chest this time and he savored every part of it. It stung only a second compared to what it helped. It reminded him there was still a heart in there that beat and felt things like it was supposed to.

As Justin repositioned himself Brian held his gaze. "You. It's what's for dinner." He added the slogan, licking a bit of Justin from his finger. The blond scrunched his nose but was not exactly grossed out. At all. He very much liked this man tasting him.

Reality grew loud again. It's whispered hush, a distant thing.

Thuds engulfed the back wall. The place that had once housed gossiping Queens awaiting beautification now sounded horrific calls of an impatient crowd. The steel door they'd entered from rumbled with each hit. Expired hair care and stupid, useless something or others clattered and shattered to the ground.

Knock.

Knock.

Both men competed for most ungracious host. That door would never swing open with welcome. There stood the threshold of alive and not.

Quickly they moved to the reception area, reassessing and withdrawing their weapons. Justin's gun hung at his side, his other hand felt the air ahead of him as he walked. A thick bladed knife felt strong in Brian's palm, his grip was tight.

The storefront display window was boarded from the inside. Roughly positioned sheets of plywood covered the bulk of It's width. Clearly, once upon a time, other poor bastards had seen this place as a promising place to hide. _Monsters always know where to look_.

A lapse in the boards made visible, the old barber shop pole that'd hung on the place through generations.

Brian recalled the countless times he'd gotten lost in it's spin. When he was sat across from Michael at the diner; gazing out of the window as he rambled on about Astro whoever-the-fuck. He'd give anything to go back to those times.

He looked now, it's spinning had stopped as the earth spun on. For the time being.

The once glistening thing struggled to shine; all too like the sun these days. It was setting now. Golden orange beams flickered the best they could.

The rays bounced from the twisted red, white and blue.

The men no longer held nostalgia for their (or any other) countries colors. It mattered not.

Finally, Earth had finally achieved world unification…

…Every place sucked the same. Every leader struggled with the little people to survive.

Watching the sunset could no longer be a romantic experience. With it's descent ascended a terror of the dark and all that lurked in it's shadows. It brought a cooler chill and erased any remnants of lights.

It turned the depressing gray into unyielding black. Though, like Brian and Justin, the sun still chose to rise each day regardless. Perhaps the fiery star aimed to cast the drab planet in various shades. Justin especially missed the colorful place Liberty Avenue used to be; ostentatiously coloring it's rainbow on every inch.

Over the last months Justin had attempted to paint when he and Brian where holed up in the loft. When they were pretending the gray didn't exist. Pretending the rainbow-ed flags of Liberty still flapped in a breeze void of decay.

But every time, each optimistic painting began to mock them and Justin would coat it in gray paint and throw it against brick.

His always impressive imagination provided not the ability to draw a positive conclusion for them.

He gripped the sleeve of Brian's shirt as they listened. Yes, there. Distinctive, definite.

Shoes on pavement. _Running_.

Two hearts leapt from elation and trepidation.

Encountering other living was a reminder of hope, or undreamt dream that just maybe things would one day be back to how it was. As dysfunctional as ever, perfectly.

Also too, encountering other living could be a reminder of reality. That even when they absolutely had to, people wouldn't work together. Evidenced by the looters that struck when the dead did, and the frenzied mob that had lit Mikey's street ablaze.

They had to be cautious.

The footsteps stopped in front of them. A thumping fist on the store's entrance. It was a blue wooden door mostly hidden by the reception desk that protected it.

"Is there someone in there?" A voice spoke. A gloriously familiar voice that had both men rushing to move the desk aside. Ben Bruckner.

"Someone who _doesn't_ want to fucking eat us?" Hunter's voice added.


	5. It Continues

The Liberty Diner sign Justin had come to know looked different now, an old friend you barely recognize. It's vibrant greeting now hollowed and forgotten. It _loomed_ above the door as opposed to it's earlier perch.

Justin was reminded of the stone gargoyles he used to sketch in middle school. Back during he and Daphne's 'goth' phase. Back when (for two weeks) dark things were their solace. At the moment he longed for shadowed stone guardians to fly toward the sun.

Despite it's withered welcome, the sign's familiarity warmed him, less than though the family within it. They'd heard Brian's gunshots across the street and had sent Ben and Hunter to follow them to the salon.

Laying eyes on Ben and his son had brought tears to Justin's eyes. Brian's too, though he had blinked them back and looked away. The blond guessed (quite accurately) that seeing one third of the Novotny-Bruckner clan brought as much worry as relief; Michael was unaccounted for.

Justin had pulled both men into a hug. Bringing his arms around Hunter reminded him just how much closer on the spectrum he was a child than adult. The boy's tightening, happy grip around his shoulders confirmed as much.

Giving no time to resist, Ben pulled an un-protesting Brian into an embrace. "Thank God; Michael's at the diner." He whispered and gave a small disbelieving laugh and shake of his head. Brian swallowed his shock and patted Bruckner's back. They hadn't said anything more; all four turning to start across the street.

Now, blond and brunet felt pokes and pinches, pressure and pats. Debbie, Mikey, Carl, Emmett and Theodore gave excited greetings. After too long for Brian's comfort they withdrew and scattered about.

Debbie stood behind the counter ("Where she could see all."). Having grown up with her, Brian believed that to be true wherever she stood.

Ted and Emmy-lou shared their usual booth ("Like they were used to.").

Mikey's bunch adorned the bar stools where Hunter was ("Fucking starving." Whose dick did he have to suck to get a hamburger around here?").

Carl paced the front at the ready, His hand on his gun (like he was used to).

They idly chattered about the world now, careful not to dig too deep. They all knew everything was about as shit as it was ever going to be.

They all knew a long, penetrating conversation wasn't going to help fix any of it.

They all knew prodding too far down would only unearth empty graves, their occupants currently higher up…on the food chain.

After a while, Theodore and Emmett told Hunter they'd scrounge up some dinner (but had zero interest in his payment) and headed into the kitchen. Recently they'd been on an eventful, semi-successful raid a few hours west. They were running out of places to provide any type of resources. Soon, they'd have to move.

Justin wrapped his arms around his partner's torso and snuggled in under his chin (like he was used to). Brian rested his head against the glass of the door and held him tight.

The night had fallen as their hope was on the rise. With everyone reunited, smiling and content. It was naïve to think it would stay that way.

All too familiar bangs and groaning startled the serenity. The boards behind Brian's back vibrated with pulsating fists. He envisioned fists tearing flesh as it tore through the shards of wood covering the glass on the other side. Ripping skin to bone as the hands searched for all that mattered, new flesh to replace it.

That's when it happened. All too fast and achingly unpreventable.

The massive mob of infected that had first taken a liking to them in the alley, had finally succeeded through the barber shop. They herded relentless in pursuit; banging, moaning, thrashing.

The group's reaction was as quick as it could've been. Yet still not fast enough. They moved like a well-oiled machine and Brian's heart hurt a little as he pondered that. Such non-violent, lovable people reduced (too easily) to precise, unrelenting soldiers.

Quickly everyone stood; weapons drawn, eyes scanning all the Diner's weak points. Unfortunately the heavy weight and sheer size of their fan club had made the entire place too fucking vulnerable.

Storm torn, rain worn plywood easily buckled in too many places. Some blows causing breakaway spots that enhanced the horror sounds with exposed night. Glass shattered from behind other barricading materials; some muted through sturdy two-by-fours, other's sang a scary song of shatter.

Ben and Carl hurried to replace boards. Mikey and Hunter replaced furniture. Pounding nails deep into pulp with apt focus, screeching metal to floor. "It's like no one always says," Hunter's frightened voice pretended it wasn't " everything is better with un-dead cannibals."

Deb stood at the counter; rifle aimed, looking every bit as pissed off and bad-assed as any hero in her son's comics. She was no hero; none of them were.

One of those small weakened places left open the gateway to the second most vulnerable spot. Justin's arm. An arm of a different thing greedily slipped through and grabbed it. He startled, eyes wide, breath lost.

Brian acted immediately. "Justin!" he called, turning to pull him from the fiercely tight disgusting grip. Mikey was first to join the fight, he too tugged at the blond who was stuck somewhere between screaming and shocked silence. Finally loose, three men tumbled to the ground.

Hunter (now more man than boy) approached the opening. In one clean, swift motion drew a knife and stabbed the gruesome thing. It's serrated edge brought back brain and flesh on it's return trip. The sickening squishing seemed unnaturally amplified to the quietly dumbfounded crowd. Ben hammered a final piece of wood to that sinister place.

Justin's strangled cry hit the foremost vulnerable spot in the diner…Brian's heart.

"Justin?!" he yelled again, no one else daring to speak. He stared at the blond, the man's expression suddenly made him nervous and fucking sick. He forced himself to look down.

The torn fabric of his sleeve on it's own, said nothing. However, the bleeding beneath it spoke volumes.

Hazel met blue again and they whispered the secret that stopped their world. Their eyes begged each other's to disprove this truth. "No." Brian let out a choked cry and led Justin to a seat on a stool. The blond resisted then obeyed, too in shock to feel pain.

"No. No. No." Brian's denial hid beneath his breath. He took Justin's hands into his own and gingerly re-examined the ragged bite staring him in the face; he dared it to look away.

Panicked gasp and words whispered around him but didn't withdraw his focus. His knees buckled below him, likely somewhere near where his heart had fallen; forcing him to kneel beside Justin. A long delicate finger hooked under his chin, slowly it turned the blond to face him.

He begged blue to tell him what to do. They said nothing.

Their world, so recently stopped, now whirled and twirled too fucking fast. It slid Justin's focus from one side of his thought to the other, never settling. It was overwhelming, the possibility of the impossible.

He was bitten by a fucking zombie. He's not even kidding.

He tried to give Brian a reassuring look before he realized to do as such, one needed to be reassured.

"It's okay?" Brian attempted to state; but it came out as a question both knew the answer to. No…it was not okay. It would never be okay again. Things had gone from bad to worse.

Justin regretted his wish for dark things to find a light. He was realizing now that the shade had hidden the things too dark to imagine. If the demons that had bitten him were the brightest army, then what new hell would the absence of shadows unveil?


	6. It Rises

"Brian this is crazy! He's one of them, he can't stay here!" Michael's words were fast and frantic in their arrival. His sneakers squeaked on the tile as he paced through the diner. "He's going to turn in the next fifteen fucking minutes!"

Michael reminded those who may have forgotten. No one needed reminding.

"If you're not going to use your brain Mikey, those fuckers out there will take it." Brian quipped, his sarcasm betrayed by his choking voice. His heart just wasn't in it. His heart was slouching on a stool, bleeding, bitten.

"Who died and made you boss Brian?" Michael snapped, unthinking and afraid.

"Everyone Mikey. Everyone." The taller brunet responded, bringing Michael down a bit. He looked down suddenly saddened if not a little ashamed.

Brian didn't say anything to his best friend then. He didn't know what there was _to_ say. What he _did_ know was that for the time being, Justin was still Justin and he wasn't going anywhere.

"Carl." The blond's voice grabbed everyone's focus. It also further proved he was still human.

Brian stiffened and pulled him closer by the waist. Denial was a powerful thing.

Justin glanced up at him before he moved away. "Carl," he began again. "I want your gun." His throat rolled in a swallow.

Several heavy gasps joined the room. It felt crowded.

The blond hadn't thought the words before he'd spoken. He'd just craved an escape from the abject terror he was about to endure.

He knew the bite had released the virus into his blood and it would kill him as fast as it'd turn him. It was only a too short matter of time. He didn't know how long the newly hammered board would hold, he couldn't be an added worry.

"Justin, no." Brian took a step forward placing himself between the blond and Carl; who was in fact un-holstering his firearm.

"Carl." Brian and Debbie pleaded in unison. The Cop's eyes mirrored the worry in theirs.

"Okay, look. Let's think about this." Carl practiced being the voice of reason. He met Justin's look of fear and tried to push the boy from his mind. He didn't want to take him with him, to the horror filled thoughts he was racing toward.

A loud metallic crash echoed from somewhere nearby. Automatically his palm grasped the gun tighter.

"Oops, just me." Emmett chuckled as he emerged (Ted in tow) from the kitchen's door; sending a brief release of tension in the air.

Everyone exhaled with the diner.

Apparently the barrier was more sound proof than anyone ever realized. Drowning also the commotion, the portable radio Emmett had found and insisted on blasting at all hours.

A long dead D.J had left Gloria Gaynor's 'I will survive' (on a constant loop) to Em and his will. ("Maybe the zombie's will like it, a song and a snack can turn any moment into an occasion.") He's said and thriller danced around the dining room. It drove everyone else to almost wishing the zombies would eat their ears. Almost.

The two men held plates of steaming some-kind-of-meat sandwiches, unaware of the fight that had just occurred.

"What's wrong?" Ted asked lamely, as if there was only one thing.

"Everyone's so…" Justin almost laughed at the enormity of the situation. "dead silent." If you listened close enough you'd surely have heard crickets. You'd have to excuse him, he tended to make bad puns when he was nervous.

Every pair of eyes in the room did a square dance around to the others. Justin's wound was like an embarrassing secret no one wanted to acknowledge. No words came, around eyes went again. Dosey-Doe!

They all stared at Justin's wrist then. It's torn flesh slightly exposing muscle underneath. Gratefully, it didn't bleed as much as you'd guess. But it was still quite disturbing to look at.

Emmett was the first to speak again. "My Aunt Lula always said, when there's an elephant the room, give it a name and introduce it."

It lightened the mood a smidgen for everyone, except for Brian. He just stood slack-jawed, gawking still at what was surely not real. The first day they'd emerged from the loft in months and Justin was bitten. 'He had failed to keep him safe.' He looked at his own hands to shift the blame. They clenched, accepting fault.

"Stop it Kinney."

Justin's sweet human voice was music to Brian's ears even if it was scolding him. He brought his eyes to see those baby blues before they… 'No, he wouldn't picture that.'

"Stop what?" he asked, tying to grin but failing miserably. 'He knew what.'

"You know what." Justin confirmed. "You're wearing your blaming yourself face. You're thinking you couldn't protect me. Knock it off." He smiled but it was halfhearted.

Deborah Novotny's authoritative voice interrupted and talked over the tension. "Listen to me, someone has to wear the pants around here," she cast a glance to all, "some of you better put on a skirt." She was the boss. (Like she was used to.)

Debbie walked over to Carl and rested her hand on his half lifted gun. "Now look here Sunshine, there's no way I'm letting you put a bullet in any part of you." She gave her trademark scoff and smile and reached for something clipped to Carl's belt. Handcuffs.

Justin's blue eyes widened slightly but he shook his head in agreement. This was the best for everyone. Justin admittedly had had no real attachment to the idea of being shot. But he was also doomed to turn at any moment.

The cold metal of the last accessory he'd ever wear matched the temperature in his heart. The chill in his bones.

He clipped himself around the stem beneath a booth's table leg. He jiggled the other cuff toward his reluctant partner who'd followed.

Brian tried to recuse himself from clasping Justin to the table, from rendering him unable to move his hands.

Those talented hands he'd had memorized. How they felt as they wandered in search of the softest spots of Brian's skin. How strong they'd been when cancer had weakened Brian's own. The gentle way they ruffled Gus' hair and curled the kid's shoulders when they'd snuggled in to watch shows that generally annoyed Brian to tears. The fucking genius technique they executed when they held an artist tool. The way they fit so perfectly within his.

One of the very hands that was whacking Brian's thigh where he'd joined the blond on the floor. Down closer to hell, where their own world hovered just minutes above.

The click of the handcuff echoed it's hopelessness, chaining the blond to his last moments. The group of onlookers all appeared to have heard the resounding finality.

All focus withdrew from the thumping windows toward the metal. They stared as if it'd detach itself from Justin's wrist. A magic trick in reverse. Surely this devastating sight was but an illusion.

Justin hadn't noticed them notice him, hadn't noticed anything at all really. Except him. The air he'd still breathe long after death, his heart that'd still beat.

He wasn't afraid of dying or even of undying. He was afraid of leaving Brian.

He hadn't wanted to ponder how long his partner would live without him. If the situation was reversed, (Oh how he hoped that would never be. In the fleeting minutes he had left, he allowed himself one last hope.) He was sure he'd not last long alone without his partner beside him.

He needed to wipe the defeat from Brian's face. He offered a small grin in hopes of coaxing Brian's from it's hiding place.

"Slightly bitten leg," he offered an advertisement to lighten the darkness. "still runs…kinda."

Brian's face hadn't changed; then slowly it did. The ghost of a smile haunted his face. He felt the smile grace his lips but hadn't felt the joy behind it.

It was more so his mouth couldn't hold so much dismay building within him. A break in his face to release some pressure. 'How could Justin joke now?' he asked himself, knowing full well the answer. Even in this moment, the worst ever for Justin, he was determined to worry most for the brunet. 'Fuck.'

Blue eyes begged him now not to dwell on the inevitable in these last moments together. "Babylon bitters…they'll get you from behind." Brian said, more an echo of his own voice; a lost memory of a sound he couldn't quite find.

Unable to believe he wasn't already doing so, he pulled his blond into his arms, he leaned his forehead against his temple.

"Brian," Justin spoke, his body suddenly listless beneath Brian's arms causing the brunet to go rigid. 'He wasn't ready for this.'

He couldn't face the darkness, he was used to his Sun. He tightened his arms around him.

The held man coughed, a sickening wet thing in his throat. He coughed again, the severity lurching him forward. He wiped his mouth. Pulling back he noticed his hand, dark spittle peppered his palm. Eerily dark droplets of the virus, brutal in their presentation.

The rasping noise he was making sounded as if it belonged to someone else. _It did_. It belonged to the devil preparing to dance on the grave he wouldn't be in.

Back in the loft, he and Brian had discussed (all too briefly) the possibility of a bite. Of having to deal with it, with a trigger. Justin had wanted a plan, Brian pretended the conversation was moot. He knew too soon, he might not even know the man he knew so well. That, if nothing else, broke his heart.

No one in the diner had ever encountered someone still human about to turn. Always the infected were long past humanity. They practically gawked now as the boy they'd loved was a man about to become something else altogether. Shocked silence stunned the room.

A room that was quickly turning too small, it also was becoming blurred around the edges for Justin. His vision held a grimy haze, patina on an antique.

He tried hard to look at Brian who was staring at him in horror. Justin didn't have the energy to wonder what had him so spooked before the pain engulfed him and his scream pierced the night.

Brian debated pushing Justin away or pulling him closer.

His eyes had glazed in a blackening pool, then the offending color poured away. It traveled in the blond's veins, something everyone could see. Could follow the virus' journey, mapped beneath his pale skin. It stopped.

Justin stilled along with time and Brian's breath.

Tick. Tick. Tick time's up, pencils down. The blond's body trembled under Brian's hands, now holding him in his lap.

The blue eyes he'd fallen for flicked open. They stared up at him and Brian's feelings refused to define a single one. No longer the shade of yesterday's sky, but the color of today's. Gray.

He acknowledged that thought in addition to another, it was not white. It was not terrifying.

They were glistening, inquisitive, beautiful. Shining like the night, they transfixed him…like the first time.


	7. It Falls

The blackness was a living thing; he felt cold breath on his skin. Slowly (so slowly) his vision revealed a face. It's features smudged, the burning edges of paper.

He didn't know anything for a second. The nearly invisible edge between one moment and the next.

His mouth opened and closed attempting to pronounce an inaudible word. Words were meaningless until they weren't. He found one floating and gripped it with as much certainty as a fractured mind could allow.

"Briii…" he tested his voice. "Brriiiiann." It came again, in a motion slow enough to show the underside of his tongue.

Hazel eyes widened at the sound, Justin's voice. _His_ Justin's voice. Albeit delayed, the word was warm. He guessed he shouldn't have expected any less from Sunshine.

He couldn't determine if his rapid heartbeat was from fear or excitement. He decided to feel both. He moved from beneath the blond, gently he pulled his legs to him and slid out of reach.

That that was once Justin struggled to sit. A delayed jarring movement that was too angular and unnerving. Nothing similar to the fluid way that Brian knew so well. The graceful rhythm with which the blond danced, made love.

He stared at him now, watching as he pulled himself upright, still handcuffed to the table. The boy from the lamppost now met Brian's eyes. They sparked with as much admiration as they did that first night outside of Babylon.

A different shade but just as beautiful. He couldn't help wonder how he appeared to Justin now. The blond had always been one to look at Brian in a way that made him feel valuable, a precious artifact. The piercing gemstones his eyes were now still held that regard.

It comforted him. It confused him.

He recalled one restless sunset, his fingers tracing lightly against Justin's arm. They'd contemplated this very wonder. The sight of the dead. ("The whole world will look like that one song that always makes you cry. Sad but significant.") Justin told him and the loft. Both hadn't answered, the darkness of the space and Brian's arm wrapped closer.

Fighting against the self-preserving nature that had led to his current position, Brian started forward. He heard Michael's panicked voice calling out a warning; he ignored it. His friend had had a point, just not one Brian had liked.

He slid soft toward Justin, like approaching a strange dog with a bone. As he neared his heart leapt again, a fluttering thing breaking loose.

Justin was smiling. It was bewitching and bright, and in that time Brian saw not the darkness around him. He was giving it to Brian, the most important gift he'd ever received.

"Justin?" he whispered.

'Justin?' The brunet's voice inquired, his eyes a shimmering expectancy.

His voice was soothing and sent something like a tingle about his body which up until now had felt little at all. The voice was sweet and smooth softening as it went, poured honey in the sun. The voice sounded like it would taste good.

He moved as forward as he could bound by metal. He'd been tugging since he'd first sat up. The harsh edge digging into his wrist, it hadn't hurt. Seeing Brian inching nearer had increased his need to move his hands.

The haze that dimmed his mind had lifted entirely. He _knew_ this man who was but inches from his own face.

He remembered how he smiled and cussed him out when Justin tickled him. Knew his weakness for French fries and Gus' pouty face. Knew how soft his skin felt in his bones.

Thump. Thump. He pulled again against the restricting handcuffs. The aged worn table top prying loose. The circular silver pulled over the pole that had held it captive.

Gasps and words accompanied the action, but no one in the diner moved forward. Brian too, stilled. He held his breath, eyes wide as he watched his partner's delicate fingers travel to him; his clasped hands shaking as they did so. The metal clinked.

Brian's eyes tracked the motion while Justin gauged his reaction to touch.

The living man flinched when Justin's fingertips found his cheek. "Briiiann." He said again.

A close relative of relief welcomed him, Justin was not the nightmare he'd dreamed for this moment. He blinked several times perhaps expecting to awaken. He did not.

Brian's smile and skin were warmer than Justin had ever felt them. Hellfire beneath heaven.

'Bran loved him.' And he loved him too. 'Love.' His brain flashed a scene, two others holding hands. A redhead and brunet. It flashed too that same couple dancing close under a star-fall of glitter.

Un-guarded, the brunet had not withdrawn when he moved closer to his lips. The other man's lips felt slack offering a kiss. Justin closed his eyes. 'Just a taste.' When he hadn't felt his lips meet his partner's, his eyes flicked open.

The brunet's head was now worriedly accessing the diner. The group (to which now, Justin guessed he belonged) had finally re-broken through the storefront. Loud crashing, yells and shouts rang out once again.

Second verse, same as the first. Brian sat too stunned to act. 'For fuck's sake, like they didn't have enough problems.' His lean toward Justin had taken a detour. The vicious crowd he'd lead to them, now threatened almost everyone he cared about in the hollowed shell of what the world used to be.

'And it was his fault.' He couldn't stop the thought from rubbing salt in his wounds. He could hardly hone in on the gut-wrenching action. Sounds of battle and absolute fear filled his ears so fast they almost muted altogether.

His broken heart cracked further still as he watched Mikey grab Ben's palm. There they stood, poised, scared but praying for the best. A 'best' Brian knew was going to be the worst of all.

Hell. It had broken loose. Finally it was free to rise and greet them.

The sea of _them_ poured into the diner in a steady stream, no biblical hero to part it.

Justin could wait not one minute more. He caught the glimmer of fear that danced in hazel before he went to eat his promised kiss.

At first, Brian met Justin's mouth with eager greed. Too far past bliss to register the pierce of his bottom lip. Brian lost himself. Justin's tongue tasted the blood that spilled from his lip.

Secondly, Brian, who had found himself in utter disbelief, met Justin's eyes and stinging tears. He too tasted the blood that pooled from the blond's bite.

His head was spinning fast enough to catch his racing heart. He heard a cry and muffled shatters from the dining room. His fleeting coherence knew his family's fight raged on. He didn't know who still fought, who still breathed. He only hoped them all; but hope was no solution.

He let himself look again. He wished he could speak, to say…something. No words came. Then no light, a star winking from existing in the universe. This alternate one, cast in shadows and death.


	8. It Ends

**A/N:** *Gives you the biggest thank you I can find.* To everyone who gave this a chance, I appreciate it. I have a few dark nooks and crannies in my mind where weirdness lingers. I hope you liked it a little. Spooky kisses & Halloween wishes~Mandi :)

* * *

><p>Deb's raid find, glowed brightly against the night. Two solar powered lanterns cast imposter moonlight. Beams of soft white lit the diner.<p>

It was the white Brian saw first. A filtered peek through his cracked eyelids. The world looked sketched by an amateur artist, smudged and misshapen. Harsh lines drew the things around him; and then they came into focus.

All of the senses he didn't at first understand, reacted at once. Sensations found their way back to him. He blinked.

A group of letters flashed in his mind. X. S. E. Slowly, they rearranged themselves. S. E. X. Sex…sex…sex. His first word.

Justin's waiting gray eyes were burning in to him. Though it was tough to look away, Brian allowed a glance around the restaurant. Despite now being overrun with a horrific group of undead, things were clear…crisp…bright.

He shifted to sit up, his muscles twitching, awakened and uncontrolled. He'd been dead less than an hour and was already uncomfortable with the changes to his body.

Looking again, Justin's eyes seemed to hold a hint of blue, paint in water. The more he focused the more Brian saw colors becoming more vibrant by the second.

The darkness for which he'd been ill prepared to face hadn't even come. It seemed lighter here. The eerie gray world transformed to color like the land of Oz. Brian could almost believe it was because Justin was here, shining his smile on everything.

He looked to the blond now and slid close to him, shoulders touched. Neither could decipher who in their family had gone where in the chaos, but they still had each other. Brian pulled Justin by the shoulders who tucked his head beneath his chin. (Like he was used to.)

The blond still felt warm and soft under his touch and Brian relished the familiarity. He focused then on the sounds around them; past the moans and clatter, below the groaning and gasps.

A tune didn't play.

'I Will Survive' no longer sang to the ironic world. In it's place was a voice. Strong, masculine, relieved. The announcer spoke.

"…Please, if anyone listening can understand this message, there is an end. There is possibility. Remain calm. The east coast has set up base camps for those living and turned. If this broadcast has reached you, proceed to Baltimore, Philadelphia, or D.C. for testing. The CDC is working on an antidote. Infected that are aware, there is hope for you. Theorists suggest violence may have triggered the outbreak. A hate virus. Could love really conquer this folks? Reports from around the globe are saying yes. Those who have died with love in their hearts have been returning…different. The effects of this epidemic appear to have lessened. Memories are thought to remain, desires remain, _life_ remains. Maybe, just maybe dear listeners we can re-build a world that will no longer tolerate intolerance."

The radio's message went on to repeat as the un-dead couple looked at one another.

Justin's reanimated mind went to the redhead and his boyfriend at the Bakery, thought too of the surveillance tape; patient zero. The stabbing of that man seemingly triggered a reckoning, a purge of the hate filled, lost souls that wander earth teaching prejudice and spreading it like an airborne pathogen.

There were more out there, like them, recovering from the bite. Re-emerging in a world that would give a second chance for some semblance of a life. A chance to use their hearts a little longer.

Scientists and men of faith alike were searching for answers.

Justin smiled, a small upturn of his lips. It seemed there were still some heroes left after all. Brian's eyes echoed the thought without voice.

They would head to Philly soon, in search of the miracle both men had almost given up on. For now, they just wanted to feel one another's kiss. Their journey could wait, it was only time. They wrapped up this morbid moment and it called it a world, the two of them against it.

He brushed his finger slowly (as everything lately was done) across Brian's lips. Dry and pale. "I love you." He rasped. His smile was a slow thing too.

"Yeah?" Brian struggled to press their foreheads together. Fumbling mouths tried to remember how they melded. Like a shared secret neither could recall.

_**With blood on their lips from the taste of their kiss, they decided to stay whole from the start. Always forever they would remain together…until they fell apart.**_

_**Come dawn they would walk into the setting sun, with love in their hearts and brains on their tongues.**_

* * *

><p>"…The end." Justin told Brian and their bedroom. His arms gesturing a sweep of finality. Nestled against the brunet's chest, he both heard and felt a deep chuckle vibrate within. He couldn't see but knew hazel eyes had rolled.<p>

"No laughing Kinney, that was spooky stuff." He smiled, swatting Brian's bare chest. This was nice. He always liked having the man's full attention for something other than sex. He almost couldn't believe Brian had listened to his entire tale without interruption. (Save a few scoffs and huffs, hints of laughter.)

After returning from Babylon's Halloween Bash they'd come back home. The trick for each other's treats.

Justin decided to tell his partner a bedtime story; since neither wanted to leave said bed.

"Terrifying." Brian spoke. Simple, serious.

Justin pulled himself up to straddle him. His knees pressed on either side of Brian's waist. He quirked an eyebrow which Brian mirrored.

"You think I'd be affected by a love virus? Terrifying." He explained.

"Mmm hmm." Justin replied then began to place a flurry of kisses against Brian's throat. "Absolutely. You would." He started in between kisses. "You love me, you sooo care about me."

Brian shivered a little when Justin's mouth began to suck at the base of his ear. He wanted to deny the blond's claims but he couldn't really think too clearly with that tongue where his brain should be.

Horrifying indeed. Every time Justin used that fucking 'L' word. He'd said it himself exactly twice. Two times he was afraid. It was absolutely every bit as scary as the movies Mikey made him watch on Halloween.

He felt Justin's teeth nip his earlobe. Evidently the blond's little tale O' terror had given him a case of the munchies…for flesh. In one fell swoop he turned the boy over. They lay now facing one another; with him on top, where he belonged.

He felt satin under his fingertips as his hands found their way to brush back Justin's hair (Like they were used to.) "Yeah?" He asked Justin, parroting the dialogue the man had written for him.

Justin just nodded and smirked. _'The little shit.'_ "Justin," Brian whispered low, slow and walking on the edge of sincerity.

The blond swallowed and held his breath. Brian's eyes bore into him and for a flicker of a fantasy he imagined this was it. The man was finally going to tell him again, the words he hadn't heard in too damn long. The three words for a third time. Just a flicker.

"…Let's fuck like it's the end of the world." Brian commanded instead.

Justin broke open then, his smile on it's brightest setting. "Brriiiann." He groaned in his best zombie impression. He crashed his smile to Brian's.

Hotly heated mouths attempted to devour on another.

The End…_again_.

_**A love as deep as theirs just can't stay buried.**_


End file.
